What They All Don't Know
by puresunlight
Summary: Misao has changed. Her search for Aoshi has left her permanently scarred, but no one at the Aoiya knows. Two years after the Kyoto Arc, she must learn to face her demons. Can she do so alone?


Hello minna-san! This is going to be a Misao-centric story, so if you don't like Misao, then stop reading! This is my first attempt at fanfiction, so any reviews would be greatly appreciated!

Disclaimer: If I owned Rurouni Kenshin, I'd be publishing through an actual publisher and making millions of dollars. --

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Chapter 1: Ghosts

My eyes flew open, my hands fisted at my lips to catch the screams that never came as my mind battled the waves of terror. The room was still pitch black. A chilly draft swept my tear-stained cheeks, fueling my violent shivering. It was the same dream, the same nightmare that I've had for over two years.

Sitting up in my futon, I struggled to calm my breathing, idly smoothing away non-existent wrinkles on my cover. My eyes strayed to the faint grey glow of my window. It would still be a few hours until dawn, but I never could go back to sleep after the Dream, as I had dubbed it. Still shaking slightly, I slipped out of the covers.

My breathing hitched as the full force of the cold air pierced through my light sleeping yukata and sank its claws onto bare skin. Shivering, I deftly changed into heavier, more presentable clothes. I slid open the shoji door and stepped into the hallway.

I walked like a ghost, my steps light and silent. The wooden floor was icy beneath my bare feet. I did not halt my journey as a small voice chided me for forgetting to put on socks. The voice was easily ignored.

I walked on, careful not to awaken the other inhabitants of the Aoiya. My hair, unbraided now, fell in a veil past my hips and fluttered in the slight breeze I trailed behind me. Glossy black and perfectly straight even after days of being confined to a braid, my hair had become a source of pride, although I would never admit that to anyone. Secretly, I thought my hair was rather like that of the princesses of the classical Japanese novels.

I stopped in front of the Okashira's office and slipped in. Lighting the small lamp on the desk, I soaked in the familiarity and warmth of my workspace. My hair fanned pleasantly around my shoulders and arms as I tucked myself into seat behind the desk and grappled for a stack of paper. I sighed.

There was always paperwork to be done. Resigning myself to the task, I let my mind wander as I read the figures on the sheets, tucking them away in a remote part of my mind to regurgitate when Okina asked me to update him on the state of things.

I saw the noblewomen that sometimes glided across the streets of Kyoto. They were so delicate and beautiful, like the porcelain dolls in the window of that shop 3 houses down. Whenever I saw them, I'd get the strangest feeling, a yearning almost. What would it be like to live a life of leisure, to be beautiful and adored, to be someone who turned heads by simply _being_?

_What would everyone say if they knew you have thoughts like these?_

I grimaced. I'd never live it down. Rebellious, tomboy Makimachi Misao, envying nobles? Really! My mouth twisted itself into a thin smile.

_What would Aoshi say?_

The smile fled. He wouldn't say anything. He would sit in that temple and meditate. As long as I did not lead the Oniwabanshu to ruin, it didn't matter to him what I did, not before, not now, not ever. The –sama had long since dropped from his name in my mind. Wounds that once skimmed the surface of my spirit now penetrated all the way to the core. They never close, never stop bleeding. Perhaps I've become inured to the stabbing pain, but I can still feel its liquid warmth of its flow.

My pen stilled. The familiar bitterness rose in my throat, followed by despair that rooted itself deeper and deeper in my heart. I shook myself, as if to toss off the depressing air. I forced myself to resume my plowing through the papers.

I took several deep breaths to clear my thoughts. I never did learn how to meditate in the two years I have spent bringing Aoshi his tea in the temple, but I did learn to settle my mind. It was quite a while before I noticed anything but the faint scratching of my own pen across creamy parchment.

In a way, learning to clear my thoughts has saved me. A little more than a year ago, my head held such a terrifying jumble of questions, memories, emotions and thoughts, a crystal black wave of anxieties, fears, confusion and hurt. They roiled underneath my genki exterior and I learned to hide the shadows they cast in my eyes.

No one ever knew, and I did not dare speak of it, did not dare confront the horrible memories and truths. That was what so many of them were: painful, bald truths that stabbed ever deeper into my conscience, into my heart, leaving behind the messy work of a blunt kunai and both bitter and sweet memories which fused with nightmares to plague my spirit.

No one needed to know. They were my devils, my monsters, my mistakes, my nightmares. I suppose they're why I've stopped trying to fight Aoshi's monsters for him. It took months to sort out all my thoughts and tuck them away into some corner of my mind. As much as I want to forget, I can't. They lurk just beyond the edges of my conscience and always, _always,_ reveal themselves in my sleep.

Only the faint glow of dawn and the distorted shadows it cast over my work pulled me from my trance.

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Like? Dislike? Please review! Should I make this a Misao/Aoshi? 


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